


Bleeding Eyes, Bleeding Soul

by IndigoDream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, God Jaskier|Dandelion, Healing, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Monsters, Murder, Near Death, Rituals, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Serious Injuries, Serious whump, Softness in chap 2&3, Transformation, Whump, internalized witcherphobia, not caring for oneself kinda self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: For months, foryearsin fact, Geralt has been resisting the pull of a force calling him away from his Path. When it finally gets him where it wants to, he is alone, unwell, and unwilling to help himself. Still, he remains a witcher.Crossing arms with a goddess is not wise.Geralt is beyond caring for wisdom and reflection. He has a monster to kill, and a pay to get. To hells with his own health. Right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 271





	1. Xhorhas the Godkiler

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ 
> 
> As said in the tags, this fic starts with some HEAVY whump, with like. Lots of self hatred from Geralt and internalized witcherphobia + graphic depictions of injuries and violence. 
> 
> This was written as an angst ficlet (does 3k of texts count as ficlet? probably not) for a friend, and then it just grew a head and legs and started running :')
> 
> I hope y'all will enjoy it!

The Path is endless this year. Or well. Those last two years? Geralt has lost track, has forgotten even which directions he is going in. He knows he is still in the North; villagers spit at him, yell out insults when he passes by. _Butcher of Blaviken,_ they cry, _a witcher is in town, hide out your wife and children!_ It shouldn’t bother him anymore, it’s been years after all, but they sting this year. Those last two years? 

He had missed last winter in Kaer Morhen, too guilty from an argument he had had with Vesemir the last time they had seen one another. He had lashed out on the older witcher, had said words he hadn’t meant, and even Lambert had looked shocked. Since then, Geralt hasn’t let go of his guilt, of his anger turned towards himself. How foolish, how childish he had been. 

He had forgone rest for the last two years, unless it was absolutely necessary. On his shoulders, in his bones and muscles, he can feel the claws of tiredness digging into him, dragging him down and tearing at him. Still, he won’t stop. He doesn’t deserve to stop. He has to go on, until he finally musters the courage to go back up to Kaer Morhen and properly apologize to Vesemir. 

But the words won’t even materialize in his mind. He has no idea how to express the sorrow and guilt that tear him apart. The only reprieve from his tormenters happens during hunts. When his mind is focused on finding out which monster haunts the village, what oils or bombs will be the most useful, his demons leave him alone. At first, that feeling would last for a few days, and he would allow himself to rest then, to buy himself a night in a brothel or a good meal at the tavern. Now though, it is so fleeting he wonders if he hadn’t imagined it. 

He had been able to escape the shame and the guilt when he had slept at first too. Found a refuge in a dreamless sleep, a bit of peace of mind. Now though, it’s been month since the last time he slept properly. Shadows follow him in his dreams, hunting him and pushing him forward, towards the edge of a precipice he cannot see the bottom of. Sometimes, the shadows take forms; those are the worst nights. Vesemir whispers in his ear how much he hates him, how little he deserves to have a family and people who love him; Eskel laughs cruelly and tells him that it was never friendship, only pity, pity and nothing else; and Lambert doesn’t even deign looking at him, moving away whenever Geralt tries to reach out for him. He is alone, all alone, facing monsters and men who want to murder him. 

When he arrives in Black Hallows, he has no idea how he found the small town. Roach had been tired, and he had decided to walk alongside her, but he had been tired, so tired, and his body had been weak too. He doesn’t remember the last time he ate a proper meal, in truth. He know he had had Roach fed at the last town, but it had seemed useless to spend that money on himself. What good would it do? It wasn’t like he was of any use besides killing monsters, and he could do that even if he only ate his rations. 

Despite his fuzzy arrival in the town, he leaves Roach at the inn, paying the innkeeper to feed the mare properly, and reserving himself a room. Even if the nightmare haunts him, it could do him some good to catch some sleep, to avoid more memory loss. Before he can get any sleep though, he is stopped by a man, rather frail in his old age. 

“You are a witcher, aren’t you?” The man asks. “The medallion, it means you’re a monster hunter, doesn’t it?” 

Geralt wants to say no, wants to go on with his days and forget all about being a witcher. But the possibility of the hunt that he will get offered, the ever so slight chance that this could be the one to make him feel right again… 

“What is it?” He grunts out, not bothering to answer the man’s questions. He clearly knows the answers on his own. 

“See, master witcher, we have a problem, in the woods. For the past couple of years, we had a few animals disappearing once or twice a month, and we thought, well, it isn’t that bad, if it’s only a cow here or there, a dog or two, we can make it.” The man twists his hands, seemingly aware of his own mistake in doing this. “But see, t’was a couple of months ago when we didn’t find our old Martha anymore. Martha, she was the oldest woman here, a widow after her husband kicked the bucket seven winters past. She took care of the orphans and-“ 

“Get to the point,” Geralt cuts in, crossing his arms. “I don’t have time for your stories.” 

“Right, yes, sorry master witcher. Martha, she liked going to the woods, to pick herbs and mushrooms for her stews. Usually, she took a young’un or two with her, to help with the carrying, but she didn’t that time, and well. She didn’t come back.” 

“Are you sure she didn’t simply go somewhere she shouldn’t have? People get lost in the woods all the time.” 

“Not Martha, she knew the woods like the back of her hand sir! And it isn’t just her, a lot of folks have disappeared over the last few months. People who ventured there to find their own loved ones, vanished. We lost our hunter and his son, the boy was barely ten summers old, but he knew the woods really well too. Better than I do, master witcher!” 

Geralt hums, frowning. “Did any body turn up?” 

“We found someone’s body three weeks’ past, but nothing more. And it was… it was ugly, master witcher. All torn up and all open inside out. Even the butcher couldn’t look at it for too long. And the hunter’s wife, Miriam, she said no animals had done it. So we thought, we should hire a witcher. But none of your kind usually come ‘round those parts, we are right lucky that you came by!” 

Geralt snorts. Lucky, right. If any other witchers had come by, sure, they would have been lucky. With Geralt in their midst, they have half a chance he will ruin everything. He supposes that, at the very least, if he gets killed during this hunt, he won’t have to worry about the apology he owes Vesemir. 

They talk for a bit longer, and Geralt tries to amass as many informations as he can, but the alderman, as he had ended up introducing himself, doesn’t seem to know much. The only useful thing Geralt manages to extract out of him is the location of where they found the last body, and then an agreement on the pay.

Forgoing a meal - after all there is no reason he should eat, he can wait longer, and it will save him some coin -, Geralt sets off, heading towards the forest. He passes by a few houses, children looking at him curiously, their parents not reprehending them, and Geralt frowns. What an odd town. Even when he passes by a town in need of a witcher, he usually gets nasty comments thrown his way. There is something odd here, and he isn’t quite sure how to deal with it. 

When he steps foot in the forest, when the trees hide most of the light, Geralt stops. It is not the black moss that grows under his feet that make him stop; that, he has seen before, when fighting monsters who impacted the environment. It isn’t the blue flowers that are blooming and wilting in the span of seconds, although admittedly he is struggling to find an explanation to that phenomenon. 

No, what makes Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, knight of Lyria, witcher of the school of the wolf, stop is the vibration of his medallion. Usually, if there is danger around of any magical nature, his medallion will hum. It has never shaken this strongly, almost pulling on his neck. The chain digs into his skin painfully, and he almost wonders if it will leave a mark. It feels like it will, almost like the silver of the chain is branding him, marking him even more as a witcher. Only one more scar to show his sins. 

He wants to turn around and run away, to go somewhere safe where he won’t ever have to hunt again, where there will be no monsters that will try to kill him before he kills them. But this isn’t how Geralt was taught. He is a witcher, a monster-hunter. He was made to kill, and ultimately, to be killed. If it is today that he must die, then he will go with his swords in his hands, and his medallion around his neck. 

(He carefully doesn’t think about the regrets that sit heavily on his heart, the way the idea of dying terrifies him. He ignores the voices of Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert in his mind, telling him to stop being foolish and reckless, to rest before his hunt.)

His steps are light in the woods, light enough to not snap any branches under his weight. He is careful even as he goes towards the place they found the last body, and when he arrives there, he draws out his silver sword. There might be no danger, but there is a powerful stench of death and Chaos that rise from the place, and he would rather not be surprised by the beast that did this. 

It has been weeks since they found and removed the body, and yet, the grass is still tainted by blood. A spell, undoubtedly, which had bound the victim to the ground, and had latched onto the dirt. It lingers still, and will probably until the beast who did this is killed, or until all its effects wears off. Geralt can’t say for sure which of the two it will be; usually, death of the spellcaster is a good way to remove a light spell like this, but no human, elf or dwarf cast this spell. It roars with the lingering energy of a unmatched energy that Geralt cannot identify despite all his years of monster hunting. 

There are a few broken trees that he gives a look at, taking into account the torn bark of each trunk, and then he turns towards the inhuman blood he finds on one of the trunks. It is mostly dry, but it stinks heavily, a smell he can’t place either. It is heady and metallic, but there is a flowery note floating through it, and the mix sends him reeling. Still, it is enough of a strong scent that he can track it, follow it to where the beast lies now.

After finding multiple torn trees, some split completely in half and drenched with a large set of blood, Geralt arrives to a small clearing, and he frowns as he sees a house settled there, the door large but wooden, and the rest of it made of a few large, heavy stones. It looks more like a temporary settlement than a house, but he can feel in his guts that this place is not temporary. Whatever, whoever, settled there has been for a while, and it has no intention of moving soon. 

His medallion is agitated even more now, the medallion itself almost searing through his armour in its frenetic need to get away. Geralt almost obeys it. His feet are half turned away, back towards where he knows he will find the shortest way out of the forest, when he remembers Vesemir’s saddened expression the last time they had talked. 

Geralt knows he shouldn’t have told his old instructor that he was to blame for everything going wrong in Geralt’s life; Vesemir had not been the one responsible for Geralt being brought to Kaer Morhen, and he had not been the one who had made the decision to have Geralt pass extra trials. Rather, through his whole life, Vesemir had been a father to Geralt, and how had Geralt repaid him? By yelling and insulting him. He had denied any fondness between them, any familial link, and now Geralt would no longer have an opportunity to tell Vesemir that he was proud to be his son, proud to be a witcher if it meant belonging to the same School as Vesemir.

He would show him this way then. Die taking down the strongest monster he had ever encountered, or come back triumphant and make his apology then. Geralt has never wanted to be a hero, never wanted to take down beasts that were talked about in legends. But that had been decided for him long before he had understood what it fully meant, and it was now his only choice: killing monsters, or be killed by them. 

He walks to the house, and readies his sword. There is no noise inside, although he thinks he can hear faintly rustling wind coming from within the stone walls. It must be a trick of his tired mind however; he must hear it from behind somewhere around. It is simply impossible that it comes from inside. He touches the door and it flies open. 

It must have been enchanted to keep all things, be they seen, smelled, or heard, secret from the other side, because as soon as he steps through the threshold - if he dares call it this — the world tilts on its axis.

The stench that overwhelms him nearly has him puking. The smell is worse than any ghoul’s nest, worse than sewers or battlefields. Death hangs heavy in the air, blood coats the tongue, but most of all, it is the smell of human rot that reigns over everything else. This isn’t just death, it is decay and calamity. It is what all humans fear, what all witchers know will come for all of them at some point. 

His head stops spinning after a few seconds, and it takes a bit longer for his eyes to adapt to the utter darkness of the house. It is more of a cave, although a created one, and the only light that comes is blocked by his body as he stands in the doorway still. Looking on the floor, he sees blood and wax, torn clothings, and then chains hanging near a stone wall. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that the sound that he had taken for rustling wind earlier is in fact a breathing, and the chains serve to entrap it. 

The first thing that Geralt thinks about the monster chained to the wall is that its blue eyes are otherworldly terrifying, but they still manage to hold a beauty he doesn’t understand. 

The second thing is that, no matter what it is that chained it to the wall, that second entity must be incredibly powerful to have restrained this beast. There are now two … _things_ that Geralt has to hunt and kill, and preferably the worst first.

The thing on the wall is bound by silver chains, a few of them overlapping and clearly burning its skin. Were it not for its sickly green skin, its face would look almost human. It stares at Geralt with its great, sunken eyes, the rabid attention telling of hunger and hatred. From a large mouth where huge, sharp teeth are half chipped and rotten, there is saliva and blood falling in heavy drops, splattering on the floor with a disgusting sound. It is breathing heavily, as if exhausted by something, and Geralt feels repulsion growing through him.

There are bodies littering the floor, half cut out, their ribcages torn open and showing an empty hole where their vital organs should be. But the monster on the wall clearly shows struggle, silver chains having dug bloody lines over its throat and wrists mostly, although it is clear it has struggled with its whole body. So there is something else. And Geralt has to find that something else first. Because if it can enslave that beast, it must certainly be powerful.

Deciding that the beast is a matter for after he has solved the problem of whoever imprisoned it, Geralt moves away from it. He looks through the small space, trying to see if there is anything that could give him any clues. Besides the torn bodies on the ground, there is nothing, the space empty save for a trap in the ground opposite to the monster. 

He gets nearer to the trap, only to stop as the monster whimpers and growls. His noises sound oddly like "please" and "out" but Geralt doesn’t trust either himself or the monster. After all, Geralt can’t even figure out what it is that has captured this monster, and he doesn’t even know what the monster is either. He is a failure as a witcher. In the beast’s case, it’s even simpler: it has clearly devoured people, no matter how assisted it was, and if there is one rule to follow as a witcher, it is to not trust any beast that can tear you apart and would show no remorse eating your guts.

Ignoring a loud yelp and growl resounding behind him, he opens the trap and jumps down, not bothering with the ladder. He feels his left ankle twist as he lands, and he groans a bit. It hurts like hell, and he should get it looked at; there are too many dangers in having a weak leg as a witcher. If it were broken, he could limp his whole life, if he doesn’t have it healed up properly. Still, turning it lightly, he pushes away the pain and tries to convince himself he’s had worse. He keeps moving. 

The darkness here is nearly overwhelming, even for him, and he regrets not having taken the time to brew more Cat. He hadn’t thought he would need it, but clearly it was a mistake. Vesemir was right, Geralt is a reckless, idiotic witcher who doesn’t know how to make sure he’ll come back alive. He is just another disappointment to his father. 

The stench of death is much lesser here however, so Geralt counts himself lucky. He moves into the underground tunnel, making a small spark of fire bloom in his hand every few seconds to check that he is still alone in the dark tunnel. It’s not the most useful, but Igni is all he can do for now. 

There is only one way through the tunnel, forward, and as he keeps going, he tries to ignore the pit of fear and nerves that has opened in his stomach, threatening to swallow him whole. His ankle is swelling up and sends him painful reminders every step he takes, and he knows, without needing to check, that it is broken. Just another failure he has to shoulder past. 

There is a faint light at the end of the tunnel, and Geralt frowns. He doesn’t feel any air coming his way, nothing that would make him think he is coming closer to above ground. He is quickly reassured in his assumption when he reaches the place where the light emerges from. 

The cave isn’t very high ceiled maybe two to three meters at most, but it is rather wide, and candles are littering the back wall of it. There is blood smeared in strange markings on the wall, clearly ritualistic, and skeletons litter a small rock table. There is blood on it too, but considering that there is no bitter and foul smell in the air, he has to come to the conclusion that it is still rather fresh. 

In front of it, a child - or well. Something child- _like_ \- is sitting cross legged and looking at him eagerly. Its eyes are bulging like a frog’s, not nearly as much on the side of its head, but still rather wide apart, and its smile allows Geralt to see a mismatch assembly of sharp teeth and long fangs. It has large claw marks on its throat, and its hands are full of dirt and blood. It is not a child, that Geralt is sure of, despite the rather harmless look it tries to project.

"Hi Geralt," it-she?- says on a cheerful tone, waving a hand invitingly. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come here. Did you like my pet?"

Well, now, what the fuck? Geralt keeps his hand on his silver sword, and he quietly casts Quen over himself. The child-thing-whatever smiles even more, and he is keenly aware of how little this will do, but it is better than nothing at the very least.

"He's pretty, isn't he? It took me a lot of time to make him this way. He was so ugly when I took him in!" The _thing_ has a very lulling voice, almost gentle and sweet, and yet it hurts to hear. It is like stones being ground one against the other with intent of polishing: painful, and oddly mesmerizing in its intent. "I had to though, it's not often that I get to play with one like that!" 

"What did you do to him?" Geralt asks, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "Who are you?" 

"Oh! How rude! You don't know me! I bring you here, I give you a job and I make a pet just for you to kill, and you don't even know who I am?" 

The thing is getting angrier and angrier by the second, swirling and swirling with Chaos and madness. For such a small being, it contains the whole universe in its fist it seems, and Geralt is fucking _terrified_ for an instant. 

"You brought me here?" He keeps his tone even, the fear falling away to make way for self-preservation. 

"Of course I did! You would never have found my home otherwise!" It yells, and Geralt is glad for Quen, because the walls shake and he has to cast it again to protect himself from the trembling. It is so powerful that, were it not for the Quen shield, he would be on the ground already. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, putting his sword down and a knee on the ground to be eye level with it. “I would like to properly thank you however, and I’m afraid I cannot do that without your name.” 

The thing seems to ponder for a few moments, before nodding agreeably, although Geralt can see the tight bundle of Chaos in its fist. 

“You may call me Xhorhas . I am the daughter of the goddess Ishma and the Aen Elle sage Tarenth. ” It- well, now Geralt should probably say she - says proudly. “ I am a goddess of destruction. Well, half goddess, but when I’ll have taken my little beast’s blood, I will be allowed to enter the gods’ home! And I’ll take all their powers. You’ll be at my side of course!” 

“At your side?” Geralt stays crouched, keeping his eyes on her, and she grins. 

“Of course! I’ll need a witcher, and you are the best of them all. I have seen others of your kind, and they are thoroughly unimpressive. I had to kill them, of course. I had thought maybe the Griffin one would be helpful, but he was a disappointment. He did tell me of you though. The Butcher of Blaviken!” She claps her hand excitedly. “Such a magnificent title! It was hard work, getting you here, you know?” 

He frowns again, but stays still. “I’m honoured.” 

“Of course you are!” She scoffs. “Three years! It took me three years! You are a stubborn one. I almost gave up, but then I found my little beast.” 

She twirls around, giggling happily, and he takes this opportunity to grab his sword again and attack. 

Killing her takes all his energy. It takes a wound in his stomach, her claws digging through his armour like it is nothing, and he can feel a gash on his leg slowly worsening. That is without mentioning his ankle, which hurts even more than before, and he can almost feel the grinding of the shattered bones with every step he takes forward. 

The worst though comes with the killing blow. As he plunges his sword into her heart, breathing a sigh of relief, his wrist gets snapped in half, and she lets out a sharp laughter before finally, _finally_ , dying.

The world grows quiet again. There is only the soft, gentle hum of his medallion, but it is so delicate, so gentle, he hardly notices it. With the way the place is still charged with magic, he doesn’t have to wonder much what is causing it to be agitated. 

He doesn’t have the strength to look through the cave. He should make sure that there is nothing more dangerous here, try and find if the half-goddess had kept anything on herself that could help him with the beast. Though…

"I made it so pretty,” the half-goddess had told him, and he feels nausea rising through him as he remembers her enthused expression.

Whatever the beast is, it wasn't like this before Xhorhas found it. There is a chance that, with the goddess' disappearance, it is back to normal. There is only to hope that the beast’s normal is slightly less monstrous than its current appearance. Or at least, easier for Geralt to handle.

Geralt limps through the tunnel, back towards the entrance of the tunnel. Blood sticks to his clothes as he staggers, clutching his wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Taking a potion now will result in nothing. It might just hurt more, and he isn’t willing to test out his chance. The loss of blood and the pain that makes him want to vomit and keel over and never move again, he can take it. He can’t make himself add the poisoning of his blood to this list. 

The ladder is more of a struggle than he had anticipated. His broken ankle stops him from resting his foot on the steps as he climbs up, and he stops a few times to rest up and breathe. It does nothing to make it easier for him, but an illusion of peace and amelioration is all that he can cling onto now. It’s that or he lets himself fall back down a meter or so and a half to die in that tunnel. And if he is going to die, he might as well die outside, seeing the sun or the moon one last time. 

He can’t make it though. He is going to die down there, alone and- 

Gentle hands, callused from something far nicer than sword handles, lift him up gently, and bring him to the ground. The stench of death is back, but there is no more monsters, only a pair of blue eyes, a tender smile. The hands cradle his cheeks, and Geralt feels warmth spreading through him. 

"Rest, witcher," their voice say, and it sounds like everything he has ever loved before. "I will tend to you."

The whispered order is tender, more of a gentle request, and Geralt doesn’t see why he should resist. He is so tired after all, his whole body crying out for him to give up. He feels lighter than he has in years though, feels a warmth he barely remembers. _Three years_ , she had said. She had stolen three years from him.

“Rest,” the voice repeats again, and Geralt obeys this time.

He closes his eyes and falls into a deep slumber without even noticing. For the first time in months, there is no nightmares to haunt him, no pain jerking him awake and tearing at his skin. He sleeps, peaceful.

When he wakes up, he is somewhere familiar. It takes him a few minutes to identify where exactly; his mind is hazy, filled with incongruous memories of gentle dreams that had lulled him to sleep. When he finally does, he realizes that he is in his bedroom at Kaer Morhen. 

Next to him, snoring lightly, Vesemir is sitting on a chair. His arms are crossed and he looks tired, exhausted in fact. Geralt knows his father, has seen him angry or happy, sad or embarrassed. But this exhaustion he can read on the face of the sleeping man is new. When he sits up, Vesemir startles.

"You're awake," Vesemir breathes in awe as he wakes up, staring at Geralt. There is awe in his voice, as if he can barely believe it. “You’re alive, son!” 

Within a second, Geralt finds himself hugged by the older witcher, and after a few seconds, he returns the embrace, holding on tightly. He is _home_. 


	2. Geralt the Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is not always a place, but the people who are within Kaer Morhen makes it the home it is. Geralt meets a new piece of home, and stories are shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is coming out one day late thanks to my shitty wifi, but it is out so maybe my router isn't homophobic. _Maybe_
> 
> Ok i am obviously sleep deprived still but HEY No one said anything about a healthy sleep schedule!! I have fics to write, and gays to please (the gays are me, my brain, and my cat who is currently sleeping on my foot. he's baby) 
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!! It's softer and has about 0 violence, but it does talk about traumatic experiences (what Jaskier went through)
> 
> Love y'all!

The embrace lasts a long time, but Geralt can’t find any reason to complain about this. He is safe in Vesemir’s arms, safe and love, and he can feel his heart beating with a steadiness he hasn’t felt in years. _Three years_ , Xhorhas had said. She had started poisoning his mind before he had even argued with Vesemir. Was she the reason for his uneasiness then? Was she why he had been so aggressive and distant? 

He can still feel her claws digging into his mind, but he feels lighter, feels his thoughts become his own again. It had probably been so easy for Xhorhas to take control of him because those thoughts were already there. Worthless, useless, a monster. He had thought of himself as this ever since he was young. He had argued about it with his brothers and Vesemir, of course, and they had tried to get those thoughts away from him. He had always been too stubborn however, too set in his way of thinking. 

Now that he has met Xhorhas , he knows they have been right all along. So he allows himself the comfort of sinking into his father’s embrace, and breathe in deeply. 

When Vesemir draws back, his eyes are red and full of tears, and he presses a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. 

“I thought you were gone, that I would never see you again,” Vesemir says, and hugs him again. “I thought we had all lost you.” 

“I’m here,” Geralt rasps out. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon.” 

“Good.” Vas’s voice is shaky with tears, and he smiles wetly at his adoptive son. “Good. The gods be praised, you are home.”

“I wouldn’t thank them too much. One of them is why I’m in this state, after all.” 

“And another is the reason you’re still here,” Vesemir tells him kindly. “If it hadn’t been for Jaskier-“ 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks with a frown. 

Vesemir chuckles. “Ah yes, he mentioned you two didn’t quite have the time for introductions. He is the man who brought you back here. Well, the _god_ who brought you here.” 

“How did he find me?” Geralt looks at his hands, thin scars marbling them from his fight with Xhorhas . His torso is bandaged up, but he feels no wound that would match with the blow he received. He had been on death’s doorstep, clinging to a last hope of life. How is he still alive? 

“You freed him,” Vesemir says, a hand coming to rest on Geralt’s forehead, looking for a fever. “Do you not remember that?” 

“Wait, he was the monster chained to the wall?” 

“He was.” Vesemir sighs a bit. “He didn’t say much more, unfortunately. He wasn’t in a great shape either when he got here. Barely had the time to mumble that you had gotten hurt while you were fighting a goddess of destruction before he passed out. You were already slightly healed, no longer on the brink of death, so we took care of your wounds, and his too, before he woke up and demanded to see you so that he could finish his work. We tried to hold him back, but he is a force of nature that one.” 

Geralt smiles a bit, trying to imagine his family holding back a god hellbent on something. “So, what was it he wanted to finish doing?” 

“Healing you,” Vesemir says with a chuckle. “How are you feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” Geralt answers, the surprise of it all not having worn off. He is mostly feeling as if he had a bad fall but simply got bruised and wounded on small rocks. Not like he fought a goddess who had intended to take control of him and use him to murder gods. “Small aches here and there, and I don’t think I can do anything for a few days, but I don’t even feel any pain in my ankle.” 

Vesemir smiles, happiness and relief shining in his eyes. “Good. Your ankle was completely shattered, Geralt, and it wasn’t the worse… Will you tell me what happened?” 

Geralt sighs heavily and closes his eyes for a second. He wishes he didn’t have to even think about that cave again, that he could forget all about Xhorhas and the insanity of her eyes, the way her magic curled around him as she tried to kill him. He hates how _familiar_ that touch had felt.

“Are Eskel and Lambert here yet?” He hopes that by asking this, Vesemir will understand he isn’t in the mood yet for this talk. 

As it turns out, his brothers are indeed there, and when Vesemir goes to get them, Geralt finds himself hugged from all side. They aren’t shy on physical affection on a normal winter, but this feels special. The three of them fall asleep this way, Geralt held by Eskel and Lambert, and he sleeps peacefully, a long and gentle sleep during which no nightmares plague him. 

In the morning, he greets Aiden, Lambert’s lover whom he had met the last time he had been in Kaer Morhen, and he is surprised when the Cat witcher hugs him. 

“It’s good to see you back on your feet,” Aiden mumbles as he steps away, and Geralt smiles. 

“Not yet on my feet, but I’m getting there.” 

Aiden chuckles and nods. “Have you met Jaskier yet?” 

“Not really no,” Geralt says. “Why?” 

“I think you’ll enjoy his company,” Aiden grins a bit, and there Geralt finds the teasing man he had met the last winter he had been here. “And he’ll want to talk to you, anyway. He is rather keen on thanking you for what you did for him.” 

Geralt hums and looks at his family, who shrugs a bit. It is Lambert who ends up explaining as he gulps down a large part of his breakfast. 

“Aiden somehow became his friend in the last week.” 

“I’ve been out for a week?” Geralt almost chokes as he asks this, and Eskel thumps his back. “How the fuck did I not know that?” 

“Technically, you’ve been out for two weeks and a half,” Eskel comments, keeping his tone even. “Lambert and Aiden only arrived a week ago though.” 

That revelation is difficult to hear. Geralt almost can’t believe that he was asleep, or otherwise unconscious, for nearly three weeks. He feels guilt twisting his stomach, but he pushes it away. He was badly injured, he needed the time to heal. He still needs time to do just that. He forces himself to breathe slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists, and his brothers stay silent in the meantime. 

When Geralt finally nods that he is alright, Aiden tilts his head to the side. “Would you like to meet him? Jaskier, I mean.” 

It isn’t a bad idea, Geralt ponders. After all, Jaskier had brought him here, had saved his life… And it isn’t because of one encounter with a goddess of destruction that he can’t meet another god. Especially one who became friend with his brother-in-law. 

“Sure. Hope he won’t mind all of this though,” he says, while pointing at himself, his torso still covered in bandages and the way his hands and arms are decorated with thin silver scars.

When he had struck Xhorhas the first time, she had thrown a shield over herself, and his sword had hit it harshly, causing thunder-like energy to run through him, burning him as it went. The silver markings are proof of that, and he doubts he will ever be rid of it. He doesn’t know if he wants to, in truth. He fought a goddess of destruction and _won_. Despite the horrific process of it all, he is somewhat proud of himself. 

Aiden laughs a bit. “Don’t worry, he won’t. Should I get him now?” 

Geralt hums, nodding. Despite Aiden’s assurance, he needles his brothers until they help him pass on a shirt, although the process is rather difficult. In the end, they end up cutting it in the front, so that it can cover his arms and some of the bandages without having to lift his arms. 

There is a light knock at the door a few minutes later, and Eskel goes to open, blocking Geralt’s view for a few more moments, before he can see Jaskier. 

He remembered large blue eyes filled with kindness, but not even the memory of those eyes could prepare him for the reality of seeing Jaskier. Ears slightly pointed, skin of bronze, the man staring back at Geralt is breathtaking. His eyes shine in the winter sunlight that streams in through the window, and he looks soft and inviting. _He is someone I could worship_ , Geralt catches himself thinking, and heat spreads through his body. What if Jaskier can read thoughts? He feels embarrassed of his own idle thoughts. 

“Hi,” Jaskier says, and Geralt finds himself even more enchanted. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you when we are both in control of our own actions.” 

It takes a few seconds for Geralt to answer, and he only comes out of his trance when Lambert, who is still sitting next to him, jostles his shoulder. 

“Right, yes. A pleasure to meet you as well.” 

Jaskier looks at Geralt’s brothers a bit furtively, seemingly not quite comfortable in their presence just yet. It comes back to Geralt that for whoever knew how long, Jaskier had been Xhorhas ’s prisoner, transformed from his beautiful presence to a monster who could not speak or be in control of itself. His heart twists painfully at the thought of Jaskier imprisoned like this.

“Lamb, Eskel, mind leaving us alone? I need to talk with Jaskier, and I would prefer to be alone with him.” 

His brothers give him a surprised look but they nod regardless and leave the room. They must have decided that Jaskier was no threat to Geralt, because the white haired witcher can hear them stepping away, leaving the corridor. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier smiles a bit. “Your brothers are very nice, I am just… still a bit hesitant to be with more than one or two people at once.” 

Geralt nods. “It’s nothing. I wanted to thank you, for getting me out of there and healing me. You didn’t have to.” 

“Are you kidding?” Jaskier looks a bit astonished and he sits on the chair Vesemir had occupied the previous day. “You saved my life. Without you, I would still be a mindless, cursed beast. I would still be feeding on the blood of innocents and-“ 

He cuts himself, shaking slightly. As Jaskier moves his arms so that he can hold himself, Geralt glimpses scars on his wrists, large and round, and he realizes that the chains have permanently marked the god in front of him. 

“We are even then,” Geralt says, trying to smile a bit. 

“Right,” Jaskier huffs with a small smile as well. “I don’t think we are. I barely healed you and only brought you back, and ever since I have been abusing your family’s hospitality. I had planned to leave as soon as I felt better but I wanted to see if you would be awake and- Well. I should probably leave soon. You must not want to have any reminder of that terrible moment in your life.” 

“Stay,” Geralt pleads, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand impulsively. “I need- I want to know more about you. You are nothing like that… thing was.” 

“Xhorhas ,” Jaskier spits the name out with hatred, and Geralt nods. “Your father already told you that I am a god as well, I suppose. She was a half-goddess of destruction, although it wasn’t her true nature. She was born as a goddess of light, but she left her path to wreck havoc on the Continent. I am, and was born as, a god of love. Very minor, of course.” 

He seems a bit shy as he pushes back a curl of his brown hair back, smiling to himself. “My mother was a fae however, which means that, like Xhorhas , I am only half of a god. Xhorhas wanted to be recognized for the goddess she was, so she chose the bloodiest path she could… I don’t care.” 

Geralt hums and nods. “Thank you for explaining. How did she get her hands on you? She wasn’t exactly… clear about it.”

“I was too naive, too trusting,” Jaskier growls, his voice a far cry away from the gentleness he had demonstrated earlier. He is angry with himself, Geralt realizes, blaming himself for what happened to him. 

“I highly doubt that it was your fault that you ended up in chains, especially in that cursed form,” Geralt points out before Jaskier can continue on that path. He doesn’t know why he cares so much for Jaskier, but he knows he does, and he doesn’t want to let go of the feeling. 

“Thanks,” Jaskier says. “Still. I should have known that finding a young goddess who pretended to be lost was trouble. She had so much Chaos swirling around her, but I ignored all the signs.. I was so stuck on the idea that she needed help, needed someone to care for her. It didn’t even cross my mind that it could all be a ruse until I found the first body.” 

Jaskier grips his own knees, his fingers digging into his skin, and Geralt frowns. “This is when I found the first bloodstain on my hands too. There was the taste of blood in my mouth but I didn’t pay attention to it. I thought I was just having a nightmare… And then two days later I was completely under her control. It was… horrifying. And at first she let me keep this body, but then she grew… tired of it I suppose. Kept saying I wasn’t pretty enough, that I needed to be changed.” 

The other man starts trembling, hunching over himself.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” Geralt interrupts gently. “You don’t have to tell me everything, you don’t owe it to me. I’m sorry I pushed so hard.” 

“You didn’t,” Jaskier says quickly. “I want to tell you. It seems I’m not quite ready for the full tale though.” 

“Then another day. It can wait. If you want to stay, of course.” 

Jaskier opens his mouth and closes it, gold colouring his cheeks. There is absolutely no doubt that he is a god, Geralt acknowledges as he stares at the soft swirls of colours. He is so mesmerized by the sight that he doesn’t notice when Jaskier looks back at him. 

“Alright,” the half-god agrees. “I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weee last chapter will be coming out soon!! And thank you for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, they made my day <3


	3. Jaskier the Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All things must end, but all things must not end harshly. Everyone deserves love.

Wintering at Kaer Morhen had always been a comfort to Geralt. His family all reunited, his brothers playing games and insulting each other with the freedom and love only siblings by choice have… This year is no different, despite Jaskier’s presence. The only thing that really change is that Geralt can’t train or participate much in the tasks they do around the castle every year. 

Vesemir is always coming up with ways to busy them. There is always a wall to repair, a room to fix, food to make… They never complain though. None of them does well with too much time without anything to do. After months on the path, none of them feels up for a winter of nothing. 

Of course, they relax plenty. They spend evenings playing cards, trading stories, reading together, or anything else that can let them appreciate each other’s presence. With Jaskier spending the winter with them, there is suddenly much more to do, much more to enjoy. As it turns out, Jaskier is not only a god of love (“Only half god, Geralt!”) but also an excellent musician. 

Before, the music that resonated in Kaer Morhen was mostly composed of rowdy songs and laughter, melodies that spilled out of them while they worked or while they were drunk. It still does, and Jaskier partakes in those moments, cheeks glowing golden and a bright smile on his lips, but he also plays for them on a lute he seems to have brought up from nowhere. 

For all Geralt knows, Jaskier could simply have gotten it back from wherever it used to be before. After all, the god had brought back Roach and all of Geralt’s equipments from the town where Geralt had left them, all without Geralt having told him anything about it. Strangely enough, he also managed to get the witcher’s reward. Geralt had only found out that a few days after he had come back to his senses. He had been rummaging through his pack, looking for a book he knew he had stored there in case he did go home. It had been intended as a gift of reconciliation for Vesemir, so that the older witcher would forgive him for his behaviour. 

Of course, it wasn’t necessary anymore, but it didn’t mean that Geralt intended to left the book forgotten. Vesemir would appreciate it regardless, and Geralt had spent a fair amount of coin on it. It was, after all, a rather rare book. Most copies had been burnt long before Geralt had been born, when Vesemir himself had been a young witcher, and Geralt had happened upon it by chance. He had had to exchange four hunts’ worth of coin, but as he had held the book in his hand and seen that annotations had been made, clearly by a mage, he had known it was the right choice. 

He had gotten it out of the pack only for pouch heavy with coin to tumble out of the bag. Its content had half dispersed on the floor, and Geralt had sworn under his breath before realizing that this was an unknown pouch, with much more money than he remembers having. The last time he had checked, a few days before he had gone on his last hunt of the year, he had maybe fifty crowns left. This was at the very least four hundred crowns. 

When he had asked Jaskier, the man had blushed, his lovely golden blush that made Geralt want to pepper him with kisses, from his cheekbones to the very tip of his fingers. Geralt adores that look on Jaskier, adores any look on Jaskier really. He half wonders if that is Jaskier’s influence over him as a god of love, but he doesn’t really care. Even if Jaskier doesn’t return Geralt’s feelings, Geralt is happy to watch and admire in silence. He has always been better at silence anyway. 

“I had the alderman pay you twice the amount that you agreed with him,” the god had stammered slightly, embarrassment shining through his eyes. “He had the means to, I assure you! And I made sure he didn’t take anything from the other villagers. He knew from the beginning, you see? I heard Xhorhas talking about him, when I was… that beast. She would feed me and talk about the quality of the meat like… like it weren’t _people_ she was making me kill.” 

Geralt had drawn him in his arms then, hugging him gently. Jaskier was delicate still. Geralt could feel his ribs underneath his impressive blue doublet the man wore, and, as he always was when the subject of Jaskier’s capture was broached, he felt a need to kill the goddess of destruction all over again. 

“Thank you,” Geralt had whispered simply. 

Emotions overwhelmed him rather easily those days. He had spent an afternoon half sobbing as he held on Roach’s mane, making sure that his mare was unarmed. She had nicked at his hair and he had laughed wetly, but he had stayed there, telling her his story. She was the most wonderful of listener, and, while he knew many would not understand, she was, in more ways than one, his very best friend. 

Tonight, Jaskier sings a quiet song of love and mourning, of the seasons passing, and a small sorrow fills all the witchers in the room. Aiden has settled with his head and torso across Lambert’s lap, his lover gently caressing his hair as they both seem absorbed in the song. Geralt doesn’t miss the way their free hands are linked together. He is happy for his brother. Lambert deserves this, and so does Aiden. Still, it doesn’t stop him from aching a little bit as he watches them settled this way. It isn’t often that Geralt finds himself wanting to find love, wanting to come back from a hunt to a warm laugh and to a gentle kiss. 

Ever since Jaskier arrived in his life, it has been near constant. Jaskier laughs, and Geralt feels his cheeks warm. Jaskier tells a story to one of them, acting out every word and every moment, giving life to even a dull post he is describing, and Geralt wants to draw him in his arms and nuzzle at his neck. Jaskier could do absolutely anything and everything, and Geralt would feel love and need flood him. 

The song ends in a soft note that drags out, and the atmosphere of tender heartbreak lingers in the air. Geralt sees Eskel sniffle from where he is pretending to read a book on the poisonous mushrooms that grow in the cave near Kaer Morhen, moving a tear away from his cheek. The white haired witcher wants to pretend this is only Eskel feeling softer than usual, but he can feel wetness in his own eyes. He doesn’t know exactly what it is about Jaskier’s song that had made them feel all so deeply moved, but he can feel his heartbeat, usually so slow and steady, beat faster. 

“Who was this song intended for?” 

Vesemir is the one to break the silence, putting down the knife and small block of wood he had been carving. He looks softer than he usually does, a calm look in his eyes when he usually looks haunted by wraiths that none of them can see. Geralt supposes it is fair for the older witcher to have this feeling about him; after all, staying alone in Kaer Morhen for most of the year would do that to anyone, especially someone who lived through the horrors of the Keep. 

“What tells you it was intended for anyone?” Jaskier answers, putting down his lute and taking a sip of the warm cider Vesemir had brought earlier. Tonight is not a night to get drunk. “It could simply be a song for myself.” 

“I don’t think a song for yourself would be quite so… longing,” Vesemir hesitates to phrase this, but he nods to himself. “Yes. There was quite a fair bit of longing in your voice, young god.” 

“What tells you that I am young?” Jaskier is evading the questions, his fingers clenching ever so slightly over his mug. 

Vesemir shrugs. “Forgive me the assumption, but you did say yourself that you hadn’t been on the Continent for long. I merely thought that it meant you were quite young.” 

Geralt watches as Jaskier gets an amused glint in his eyes. “You would be right to assume so. I am quite young to be on the Continent. I was born of a goddess however, and she kept me with her for a few years. It took me quite a lot of time to convince her to let me come visit my father’s family. And then well… We know what happened.” 

He shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter to him, but Geralt can see the pain in the way he looks down briefly. It is something he is rather familiar with. Look done, take a second for the mask to fall back on, glare. Or well, in Jaskier’s case, smile. 

“So, who is it for?” Aiden asks, stretching in a rather cat-like manner that makes Lambert smile fondly. “You haven’t answered.” 

The Cat’s question seems to surprise Jaskier, although Vesemir had asked it mere moments before. He gnaws at his lower lip a bit, worry shining through him.

“Leave it,” Geralt snaps at Aiden, and the other witchers all give him a surprised look. 

“It’s alright Geralt,” Jaskier soothes gently, smiling at him. “I don’t mind it. I was just mostly… surprised that it was asked again. I never really thought about who this could be intended for. I have been thinking about this song for a few days, and while this was the first time I really voiced it, I think you are right, Vesemir. It is for someone.” 

He pauses, smiling gently at his hands. “Or rather, for something. I cannot go back to my home in the gods’ realm, at the very least not yet. I must wait for the next Black Sun to shine upon the world, if I do not want to have to ask for my mother’s assistance. And as this whole trip was meant to prove her I could be independent… But don’t you mind that. If you press me, I think I sang for what I have given up to experience life here, on the Continent.” 

Geralt thinks about the months of imprisonment Jaskier experienced at the hands of the goddess of destruction, and he winces slightly. What a poor impression that must have made. He doesn’t understand how Jaskier doesn’t immediately want to go back to his life of joy and comfort. 

“Some of it was rough,” Jaskier chuckles sadly, but then he looks back at Geralt, his eyes filling with a tenderness that Geralt can’t mistake. “But I think things are starting to work out quite fine.” 

Geralt doesn’t dare to hope, doesn’t dare to believe that this look means what he wants it to me. That maybe, Jaskier feels the same fondness in his heart that Geralt does. After all, why would Jaskier love him? Geralt is just a witcher. He is nothing compared to Jaskier. A speck of dust in front of the great sun, a miserable wilting plant, a-

“Geralt, walk Jaskier back to his room,” Vesemir says, pushing at Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s getting late, and I do believe our guest is starting to get tired after today’s events.” 

Giving his father a surprised look, Geralt tries to figure out if they had done anything special that day, but nothing comes to mind. Geralt had managed to take part in some training with his brothers, but Jaskier had only stretched in the winter sun as he watched them. Then the god had gone to help Eskel in the kitchen, and Geralt had gone back to rest… Nothing really jumps to his mind, and he gives Vesemir a puzzled look.

The older witcher rolls his eyes and helps him to his feet. “You’ll get me that book on portals Jaskier borrowed too, come on. Some exercise will do you good.” 

“What-“ 

“You don’t have to walk me back,” Jaskier says, his back turned to him as he picks up his lute and mug of cider. “I know my way around the keep well by now and I’ll be able to find my room from here.” 

“No,” Geralt answers quickly, his heart beating faster again at the very idea of spending more time alone with Jaskier. “I want to!” 

They haven’t had much time alone ever since that first day. Jaskier has started getting along with Geralt’s family, talking with them and laughing, and Geralt loves this just as much as he feels jealous of it. He knows there is no reason for that. Lambert is happy with Aiden, and Eskel has no interest in Jaskier, or at least not that Geralt thinks. And Vesemir… Geralt shudders to even think about Vesemir and Jaskier. It makes him want to throw up a little bit, if he is honest with himself. 

Jaskier turns a surprised eye to him. “You do?” 

Geralt nods, feeling shy all of a sudden. “If you don’t mind.” 

“No,” Jaskier shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “Not at all.” 

They start walking together, silence following them, and Geralt tries to not feel self-conscious as he starts walking in silence with Jaskier. He doesn’t quite know what to say anymore. Words and thoughts are pressing and fighting each other in his mind, making him hesitate to say anything. 

“So-“ Jaskier starts to say, just as Geralt finally manages to stumble a few words out. “I meant to-“

They both stop, chuckling a bit and looking away from each other. Jaskier clears his throat and jostles Geralt’s shoulder. 

“You meant to?” He asks gently, seeking out the rest of Geralt’s sentence. 

“I, well. I meant to thank you for staying here. I’ve been… enjoying your presence.” Geralt struggles to get the words out, but when he does he feels a little lighter. It’s not all that he meant to say but it’s a start. “My family really appreciates you too.” 

“I’m glad,” Jaskier whispers as they walk. “I hadn’t really gotten to meet a lot of people before Xhorhas happened. Then well. I wasn’t exactly _meeting_ them. Being with you and your family… It feels right. You are all so… wonderful.”

Geralt snorts. “We are _witchers_.”

They are nearing Jaskier’s room, but the god stops walking, crossing his arms and staring at Geralt. “And? What’s your point?” 

“Well, we are barely people.” Geralt shrugs. This is nothing groundbreaking for him, after all. Ever since he first stepped on the Path, long before he became the Butcher of Blaviken, he had been treated as lesser than humans. Mutants like them don’t count. 

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier breathes out softly, stepping closer to him and making Geralt look at him. “Please. Please, Geralt, tell me that you don’t think that.” 

Geralt frowns a bit. Why does Jaskier sound so sad? It’s true, after all. They are freaks, and they might be a family and might have as much love as they are capable for each other, but they are still not _right_.

Soft hands gently touch his cheeks and he finds himself staring into the endless blue of Jaskier’s eyes. They are still standing in the hallway but Geralt feels in a different world, in a world where only Jaskier exists and his touch is the only thing that matters. 

“I’m a god of love,” Jaskier asserts. “I can feel people’s love, I can feel their kindness and emotions. Before coming down on this realm, I felt the love from people too, from family who were frayed around the edges and who did not know how to even love each other anymore. I’ve felt heartbreaks and first kisses, the last crush a person ever had and their first ever serious moment of love they felt. I’ve felt families who lied and who hated each other. I have felt a million human lives, and I have felt all their love and hatred, all their resentment and thankfulness. 

“But believe me, Geralt of Rivia.” At this, Jaskier walks even closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I have never before felt as much pain as here, and yet I had also never felt as much love as there is whenever you are all together. The worry that your brother had when you were unconscious was tangible to me. When Aiden and Lambert hold each other, I feel sparks in my fingers, an itch to bless them that I’ve never had before. When Vesemir checks on you, I hear the softness of his love for you, the way he has decided to ignore old traditions to fully embrace his role as your father.

“When Eskel reads you a passage of a book and you laugh, I watch the camaraderie and easiness that exists between the two of you the way one would watch a painting. You are no longer fully humans, yes, but you are special. You are … I don’t quite know how to describe it to you other than astounding. I didn’t think such a love could exist on the Continent. Even the gods can’t compete. You all chose each other and grew this way into new people. You are amazing, Geralt.” 

Pressed so close to Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t know anymore what he is or isn’t supposed to do. He wants to lean in, to capture those plush lips in his own and run his tongue on Jaskier’s lower lip. But Jaskier’s words echo in his mind. 

“You can feel love?” He stutters out as he realizes what it means.

Jaskier smiles, a golden blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Yes.” 

“So you can feel… my love…?” 

Jaskier’s cheeks grow even hotter with gold. “Yes.” 

Geralt tries to step back, but Jaskier holds his wrist quickly, too light to restrain him but enough to show that he is interested in continuing the conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, but Jaskier is surging closer to him and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Please, don’t apologize.” 

Geralt stays stunned as he looks at the god. What the hell was that? Why would Jaskier even kiss him? 

“I was hoping you’d say something first,” Jaskier says, wringing his hands nervously. “And if you don’t want this you only have to say and I will be gone-“ 

“No! I mean, yes! I,” Geralt is flushed now, feeling the tip of his ears burning. “I mean. Please stay. And I… I was too much of a coward to tell you.” 

It’s Jaskier’s turn to frown. “You’re not a coward. I won’t accept such insult towards the man I love.” 

The words punch Geralt through his stomach, making him feel both lighter and heavier. He is loved by a god. No, better than this, he is loved by _Jaskier_.

“You love me.” His mouth forms the words without him even noticing, and there is a bright smile in his voice. “You love _me_.”

“How could I not?” Jaskier shrugs, trying his best to not seem affected by the situation.

“It’s very easy to not love me,” Geralt smiles and steps back closer. “But you _love_ me.” 

“Yes,” Jaskier replies, avoiding his look, and when Geralt caresses his cheek, he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“I love you and you love me,” Geralt sums up. “In this case… May I?” 

It takes a second and a half for Jaskier to understand what he wants and then he nods eagerly. This time, the kiss they share is awaited by both side, and Geralt gets to taste Jaskier’s lips, and to hold him. It is so much more than he could have ever imagined, and he keeps hungrily going back for more, until his breath comes back too short and they have to stop. 

“See?” Jaskier caresses his cheek, letting his thumb slip over Geralt’s slightly parted lips. “Absolutely, perfectly, good people.” 

Geralt kisses his thumb and smiles. He draws Jaskier in for another kiss before long, too eager to taste his lover over and over again. They may have their whole life ahead of them but it doesn’t mean every second still isn’t important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weee this is over! Thank you for reading this story and thank you for enjoying it <3 I was recently told that tumblr shadowbanned me bc i'm just too queer for them, so if you wanna find me, follow [this link!](https://saltytransidiot.tumblr.com/) I will happily take prompts and questions about any of my fics!

**Author's Note:**

> Weee the whump is over from this on! Only softness and healing time at Kaer Morhen for our boy. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos! You can also come check me out on tumblr @saltytransidiot although i rarely post anymore bc of Life Reasons™ but if you wanna yell in my inbox, it's open and i will be very happy!! <3 
> 
> Next chapter will be up by the end of the week! Most likely friday/saturday depending on my schedule.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3 <3


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